


The Light is Infectious

by MeterolojinxRecanto



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-30 22:57:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17232728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeterolojinxRecanto/pseuds/MeterolojinxRecanto
Summary: The monologue of Regulus Black





	The Light is Infectious

I haven’t specifically thought about the moment of the end. I know I haven’t been reduced to setting barriers to my life by using such artificial diction.

But at least I hope it will not be in the night. Those memories, those memories of lurking in the night have been enough for me. I remember Barty said that we were like rodents in the sewer. And I remember I replied to that inferior metaphor with a jeer scarping over my palate. It was just like that I didn’t view them as lives. But now I don’t think I have the right to do so—and I am even not a thief. I feel ashamed about the arrogance I once treasured. I hate it more than I hate the arrogance of others, adding a dose of torture of self-unforgiveness.

But if I still have the chance to choose, I’d rather it will be at dawn. Though I have consumed—or enjoyed most of my time in the places lack of light, nothing ever deprived my grope of it. I know the light is good, even it is not related to a Quidditch match; it is a relatively beautiful thing, yet relatively beautiful things are all I have in the last days.

Completely lucid—or dead—there is no middle path. I have no right, at least no desire to stay alive. I know I am not going to leave without regret. But, besides this, I have no will to make any remedy, or confession. I have been tired of escaping or forcing others to escape.

There was a moment, that I was sure something had stabbed into my life. I cannot find the exact verb; neither can I recall the exact point of time. But I know it was, absolutely not, a beam of light. At first, I just felt invaded. I still can’t figure it out to this day: whether it was because I didn’t finish my rampart, or I because all this time, I was just pretending to be building a rampart. I know I had guilt and crime inside of me. They grew from my aspiration, my pride and my innocence. This foreign matter, this impurity leaked into my interior and massacred every single piece of them, and left the carcasses rotting in every corner, every inch of my body.

But since then sometimes I would stagnate in a transitory vacancy. Not in nihility, but being wrapped and filled by a safe, soft and spotless substance, like water and air; at the end of all what I abhor and fear and yearn for; like the oasis in the desert, or it is the core of the desert. I know there is a complete serenity waiting there for me. I know it’s not an abyss.


End file.
